I shift a step closer, ignoring Timofey, my eyes locked on her.
“Are you hurt?”
She gives the smallest nod, jaw tight, pain written across every line of her face.
“Is this what you’ve got left, Timofey? Dragging her into a war that’s yours to fight?” My eyes lock on him, cold as the barrel aimed at his chest. “What happened to all that power you love to brag about,?????”
He grins wider.
“Aw…” He hacks up a wet laugh, spitting more red onto the floor. Blood streaks his teeth, pooling in the corner of his mouth. “How romantic. The Reaper with a weakness. Didn’t think I’d live long enough to see it.”
Then he twists his hand in her hair and jerks her forward—hard. She gasps, knees buckling, her scream cutting straight through me.
“Stop,” I bark, stepping closer.
He jams the muzzle of his gun into her ribs. “Don’t. Another inch, and she’s gone.”
I freeze, muscles coiled tight. The sight of her like that—trembling, bleeding, still trying to pull away—makes something inside me fracture.
Timofey’s grin sharpens. “Tsk, tsk, tsk… Igor would love to see this. His favorite soldier losing his balls over a girl.” He laughs, ugly and wet. “You think he ever saw you as more than a leash he could yank?”
I don’t answer. My silence is enough.
He keeps talking, voice turning slick. “You think you’re smart, huh, Anton? Always two steps ahead. Always cleaning up after everyone else’s mess. Please.” He yanks Mary closer again, pressing the gun to her jaw now. “I let her live because I wanted you to come crawling out of whatever hole you sleep in.”
Mary tries to twist free. He slams her back against the metal again, the sound dull and brutal.
I step closer, gun raised. “Let. Her. Go.”
Timofey laughs again, coughing blood. “All this for a girl who doesn’t even know what you are. Igor’s loyal little dog, chasing crumbs while he rots in paranoia.”
He tightens his grip on Mary, drags her half in front of him. “You want to know why I’m done following orders from that old fuck? Because he’s weak. Because he’ll die babbling to ghosts before he ever passes the crown.”
He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “And you? You could’ve been a king. Instead, you’re bleeding loyalty for a banker’s whore.”
I take another step. “Careful.”
“Oh, I’m past careful.” He grins wider, wild now. “Tonight was supposed to end with your body in this fucking yard.”
He digs the muzzle of his gun into Mary’s ribs again. She flinches, breath breaking.
“Timofey,” I say, calm as a blade. “You talk too much.”
He sneers. “And you think too slow.”
He jerks her closer, pressing his gun higher.
Mary gasps, “Anton—”
I catch her eyes. One heartbeat, then another. The chaos around us drops away until it’s just that look—the same one she gave me the first time I showed her how to fight back. She doesn’t need words, and I don’t have any left to give.Now,my stare says.Trust me.
Her chest heaves, terror cutting through the dim light, but I see the flicker there—the memory of what I taught her. Weight on the ball of the foot. Heel down hard. Twist and drive.
She moves.
Mary slams her heel into his instep and drops her weight, ramming her elbow back. Timofey snarls, gun jerking just enough—and then she drives her knee straight into his groin.
His howl rips through the night. The gun wavers. That’s all I need.
